


the names we give them

by forestpenguin



Series: Finding Home [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: "CassLeia is the ship that saves the galaxy" and so on, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Force-Sensitive Leia Organa, Hoth, Minor Lando Calrissian/Han Solo, Post-Battle of Endor, Post-Battle of Scarif, Post-Battle of Yavin, Post-Star Wars: A New Hope, Post-Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestpenguin/pseuds/forestpenguin
Summary: Cassian wakes to a changed Leia, Rebellion, and galaxy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reading _the stars that guide us_ before this can help, but isn't necessary. As in that fic, please note Cassian is only 2 years older than Leia in this series.

His existence dips and fades, gently like a speeder skimming over the snowbanks on Fest. Aching to fall, hoping to rise. It sputters to life, soaring.

Cassian is shoved into reality. 

It’s not the first time, but this time is different. This sleep felt all-encompassing, as if the warm darkness – or the Light – was the only thing he’d ever known. Will ever know.

Now the darkness is dimmer, a lighter grey instead of the emptiness of eternity.

He knows he’s alive.

Cassian struggles against the weight of his droopy eyelids. They flutter open just enough for him to get a glimpse of his surroundings. His vision is clearer, this time, freed from the haze of exhaustion and painkillers.

Earlier visions of moving blurs fade away into memory. They've sharpening into the silhouettes of med-droids and medics bustling about with datapads. Bending down into his line of sight, they shine lights into his eyes, and murmur about his chance of survival.

No, chance of _recovery._

He’s alive.

Seeing, however, is still too much for him. Much less  _existing._

Weighed down by stardust, his veins are leaden - pulling incessantly at his soul, tugging him back into the depths of ceaseless slumber.

He can still hear. 

Medics' chatter, their harried footsteps. Wheels rolling, squeaking on freshly sanitized floors. The clanking of an old Clone Wars-era medical droid.

When he resurfaces, the medbay's cold air whispers against his skin, sneaking under the thin fabric of his bedclothes. The beeping of the machine that bears sole witness to his beating heart punctuates the still silence.

Cassian lives, he is living, he _is_.

He _feels._

A damp film sticks to his skin. 

Cassian runs his heavy tongue over the roof of his mouth. Bacta. The taste is stronger than what he's used to. Bacta immersion. The hiss of the oxygen supply. Scars, surgical and born of wounds, healing.

He exists, he lives, he’s _alive._

They wheel him back into the main rooms of the medbay, out of the secluded emergency unit and into intensive care. They don't tell him this. He pieces it together from the ebb of the fluorescent lights of the corridor as he rolls by, the squeak of the stretcher's repulsors amidst the hum of background noise.

Cassian is alive, but isn’t ready to join the world of the living.

For a fleeting moment that had felt like a blissful eternity, all the burdens he’d accumulated while living had been lifted from his shoulders. He’d felt the ache of their sudden removal on the beaches of Scarif.

And then he was free.

Or so he’d thought.

The weight settles back over his shoulders with his every unassisted breath.

He’s not sure if he wants this back.

“I know.”

_This is new._

The voice itself isn’t new. He knows it. He’s heard it, is hearing it.

It’s real, not a memory.

The words are right. The accent is not his, not his mother’s, not of his homeworld.

This new voice, her voice, is sharper. A song practiced to a different tune, rich with another rhythm.

He’s heard it recently. In the life _before,_ yes, but even during the sleep. Muffled by the transparisteel of the bacta tank.

_\- Come back, Cassian._

“Take your time,” she tells him now.

A twinge of synapses and a flutter of nerves. He feels something sweeping away the damp bangs plastered to his forehead. Something warm and gentle presses in their place.

A gentle farewell.

* * *

It’s Leia.

Always, Leia.

Only, Leia.

* * *

She’s caught up in the evacuation of Yavin IV. Personnel, supplies, ships, droids all blur in her mind, singular identities lost in the frenzy. Except one.

He lingers, an isolated fixture in the back of her mind, a presence never forgotten. Out of sight, perhaps, but not out of mind.

The medical freighters are one of the first to leave. Cassian, like anyone with righteous blood burning in their veins, had adamantly refused the title of bed-ridden patient as soon as he had the awareness to do so. His conscience got the better of him soon enough, experience barging its way in to remind him it was better to comply with the overly-sweet tongued medics’ instructions “if he wants to get back on the front lines”.

Either that or incur the ire of the medics and lose Leia’s sympathy when they jabbed anesthetic needles with more force than necessary.

Leia knows if she had been the one confined to a sickbed, the entire base would’ve been privy to her complaints – regardless of such behaviour being ill-fitted for a Princess.

 _(Princess of **what** ,_ she thinks. _Blasted pieces of space rock?_ )

There would’ve been the same things to be done and no Leia to _get_ them done. The injustice of it would’ve driven her up the kriffing wall: being stripped of most of her agency while the Rebellion needed her most.

(Even if the Rebellion didn’t need her, she needed it. Being idle was no good for anyone with righteous blood burning in their veins. Or shadows snapping at their ankles at every step.)

So Leia sympathizes.

She also knows, if their roles had been reversed, Cassian would’ve told her to stay put. Not for her _own good_ , as the medics tell Cassian, who masks a grimace under a patient smile (who’s still recovering from a mission where he laid down his life for the Rebellion with frightening acceptance). But because _you aren’t helping the Rebellion if you’re making a fuss and wasting resources, Lei._

The mental image brings out a slight smile over the top of the box of supplies she’s carrying to her waiting ship.

_\- You aren’t helping the Rebellion if you’re making a fuss and wasting resources, Cass._

He’d looked up at her from his sickbed, an old model with repulsors that sputter and jerk as it floats down the hallway. The tilt of his face made the unflattering lights of the base catch in his eyelashes in a way that would send any other witness stuttering over their words.

She’s dealt with him for years. Leia merely crossed her arms.

 _\- I know,_ he sighed. _It’s just – hard. After..._

Leia tries not to think about the rest of the conversation.

She hasn't had much time to grieve.

She spent most nights standing watch over Cassian. Bed, bacta tank, bed again. She channeled her attention on only two things: the safety of the Rebellion and Cassian’s recovery. Some nights she’d witness him stir in his sleep, unintelligible phrases muttered under his breath. Then two nights ago, the eve of the first round of departures, he’d fully woken up.

She couldn't visit after that. Couldn't answer his questions, couldn't meet his eyes.

Distracting herself with the aftermath of the Battle of Yavin got her through the next couple days. Now she's faced with the prospect of the eerie silence of spaceflight –

She doesn’t know how she will hold up.

She’ll have to cave eventually.

* * *

Slicing is one of Cassian’s skills that he genuinely likes. It’s numbing in a way. _Here is a problem, here is a solution_. Any mistakes result in more time on his part. No blood on his hands – usually.

He’d learned to slice in his days with the Festian Resistance, under his mother’s watchful eye. A skill that had proven him useful to the insurgency and the Rebellion, a tool that had gotten him out of plenty of situations.

He hasn’t done it in a long time, and certainly not sliced the Rebellion’s databanks. He’d blame Leia, if anyone, for keeping him in the dark. She and Draven had fed him bits of information to keep him sane, but it was nothing worth acting on, nothing that could _lead_ anywhere.

(They’re most likely afraid of telling him anything that will make him want to leave.)

Cassian’s a little rusty, and he frowns a little at the line of code on his screen. Either his brain is filled with bacta, or he’d grown too reliant on -

_Kay._

_Muffled blasterfire. Kay’s voice over the comm._

_Climb!_

Leia finds him staring numbly at the datapad that’s skittered across the floor.

He doesn’t ask why she’s on the medical frigate, doesn’t remind her of the prevalent loose tongues and soldiers’ insatiable appetite for rumors. Neither of them have a taste for frivolities, anyways.

They couldn’t afford to.

Leia doesn’t ask him anything. Only shoots him a raised eyebrow before sitting on the bed beside his outstretched legs. A faint burst of pain lances through his spine as the mattress sags under her weight. He doesn't react. 

She doesn’t ask him how he’s doing.

She says nothing. 

Sitting in silence is a welcome relief. No questions to answer, no choices to explain, no condolences to accept. Just basking in the warmth 

It’s a relief to just be able to sit. Not speak, just feel the warmth of another human. Hear her soft breathing, a pleasant contrast to the hum of the machinery he’s tethered to.

She sits, watching with dark eyes. Waiting until he’s ready.

“Nice to see you,” he starts, when he is.

“That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Sorry.”

She sighs, tucking her legs up beneath her, scooting across the mattress to recline beside him on the bed.

“We’re kriffed if someone walks in right now,” she mumbles as she frees a pillow from under his head to adjust it around hers.

He scoffs, voice on the cusp of a chuckle. “Like you’ve ever cared. Besides, it’ll divert everyone’s attention from pairing you up with Skywalker and the-“

Leia rolls her eyes. “Stop _right_ there, Cass, or I’ll give you another reason to be in the medbay.”

“Ouch.”

She huffs, face contorting in disgust. “Me and that nerfherder who lost his sense of decency on a pirate ship? Karking hells, I’d rather-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“Alright,” she concedes, lips curling upwards.

His mouth lists into a smile. The expression feels foreign on his face, muscles stiff.

“He _did_ come back, you know,” he adds teasingly.

Leia adopts a more serious gaze. “I know. He’s a good man at heart, just, um, has some issues that make him distrustful. Usual story.”

Cassian’s thoughts turn to Jyn. 

“Usual story.”

The lights of the corridor dim, signalling the start of the nightcycle. Leia tenses beside him.

Cassian is sure she’s about to leave.

Instead, the back of her hand grazes his, the one free of the IV drip.

He closes his eyes and stretches out his fingers, hoping.

She lifts her hand and he feels her palm warm against his, and then their fingers are loosely intertwined.

He opens his eyes when the lights go out entirely, casting them into darkness. The only source of illumination is the emergency light set above the doorway. It highlights her features, the strands of dark brown splayed over the white pillow. He’s tempted to gently trace the bright outlines.

He doesn’t.

He closes his eyes to the sight, fearful of the path it’ll send him on.

He feels Leia’s breathing against his cheek. Slow, gently, steady.

Her hand, warm in his.

The silence stretches on long enough Cassian is on the verge of falling asleep. He’s not sure how, with all these days of slumber and her presence beside him – but then Leia shifts, turning closer.

His eyes flutter open and meet hers.

The realization strikes him sharply, like a blasterbolt.

“Alderaan,” he murmurs. He feels her hand twitch in his grip.

“I don’t want-”

“You do. That’s why you came here.”

“You aren’t supposed to know that.”

“I have a knack for knowing things I’m not supposed to,” he murmurs, and she smiles gently. He gives her the space of a heartbeat, then asks her outright.

“Do you want to talk – or…” his voice trails off.

“I’m not the best with feelings.”

“Neither am I.”

The sheets rustle and Leia’s turned to face him.

“This okay?” she asks, draping an arm around his torso and he nods before remembering she can’t quite see him.

“Yeah.”

Leia tucks her face into his shoulder, hand skimming over the edge of a bandage.

“It’s just… it hasn’t really hit me yet,” she starts. “It’s just… so sudden. Unreal. You know? It doesn’t seem… possible. That it’s all gone. That they’re gone. _All of it._ ”

Her breath hitches, and Cassian shifts to press his hand against her back. He can feel her chest rise with every breath. He hesitates, the fact that the figurehead of the Rebellion is quite literally in bed with him hanging over his head.

“I wish I could – I wish I could talk to them one last time. I had so much to learn, and so much to say and I don’t remember if-”

Cassian relents, drawing circles on her back to soothe her.

 _You’re not taking advantage of her,_ he reminds himself, _she sought you out._

Leia trembles but never gives a voice to the wetness rimming her eyes. He can only appreciate her all the more for it.

“What now?” she murmurs into his neck, when she’s ready. She’s not sure if she’s done _forever,_ or just for now, but she feels that most of the burden will wash away into the drain of her shower the next morning.

She expects whatever’s left will be with her always.

“We fight,” Cassian replies. Leia looks up to him, and he gives in and begins tracing a path along the braids circling her head. “And keep their dream alive.”

“How do you…”

Cassian licks his lips. “I didn’t lose everything all at once. First my father, then my mother, then my people and planet. One by one, until I had nothing – until the only thing I had was what they’d taught me.”

She nods, then pauses, a realization dawning on her face.

“They stripped Fest for resources to build the Death Star.” Something bubbles in his chest, an laugh born of irony.

“They destroyed Fest to destroy Alderaan. The Empire orphaned both of us.” Cassian’s hand drops from her hair to pull her into a hug.

“How do you cope?” Leia’s voice is muffled against his chest.

He sighs, unsure how to answer.

“At first… at first I was young and angry. I channeled my anger into the fight, but that just left me exhausted.”

“And now?” Her chin rakes across the front of his shirt as she meets his gaze. Cassian looks into her eyes, still bright even in the darkness.

“I’m not really sure. I’m still angry and disgusted, but I’m so… _tired_ it longer fuels me. It’s just, it feels like fighting is my _duty_ , you know?”

He remembers his impromptu speech in the hangar before the mission that would change his life.

“It would feel wrong to not do the best I could. It would feel like I was wasting the life my parents, my planet, fought to protect.”

Leia puffs out a breath.

“You’re so honorable.”

“You are too, Lei. You have the right to be furious, you have the right to retreat in defeat. But you’re here, still fighting.”

“You make me sound like a saint.”

Cassian closes his eyes and presses the side of his face against hers. “Then you must realize none of us are. We’re just trying to do what’s right.”

She nods, grasping at the fabric of his shirt.

“I think – I think I want to live my life the best way I can. It’s what they would’ve wanted. It’s what we want for future generations. Just – just to spit in the Empire’s face. To show them they can’t squish us. That’s not selfish, right?”

Cassian doesn’t have a response, but Leia realizes she doesn’t need one.

They stay like that for as long as her conscience would let her, and then she slips away.

Cassian falls asleep as the bed cools.

* * *

Life falls into an unsteady rhythm afterwards.

There’s a great upheaval in the fabric of the galaxy, ripples of the destruction of Jedha, Scarif, Alderaan, and the Death Star slowly spreading like wrinkles.

Cassian feels the change.

Like him, the galaxy is brought back from the brink of destruction.

 _What comes next?_ None of his missions had ever shaken the galaxy to its core like this. Living to see the awe and curiosity mixed in the eyes of fellow rebels is something he’s never considered. Mistrust, accusation, these he knows and understands. But respect? Respect is something people saved for heroes and Princesses.

Before he’s even healed he’s wrangled himself back into the thick of things, albeit more at boardrooms on flagships than grimy cantina booths. His focus is on his work more than anything else, even his healing.

Leia remains a prominent fixture lingering at the periphery of his consciousness, a small figure clad in white striding with purpose to jab a finger in the personal space of some well-deserving _ratface,_ as she mutters under her breath in passing as she crosses Cassian’s path.

The corner of Cassian’s mouth quirks upwards into the beginnings of a smile.

* * *

Leia knew Cassian would eventually be drafted back into the dirty work. Nobody in the galaxy has the power to stop Major Andor from leaping feet first into the frontlines, especially after passing even the most exhaustive of health examinations.

She sees less of him now, her strengths in diplomacy and subversion a different brand than his.

It’s almost like the old days –

(She almost scoffs at her nostalgia for her first missions for the Rebellion.)

It’s almost like the old days, their meetings few and all the more precious because of it. But in those days she didn’t have a name for the thrill she felt, and now Leia knows it for what it is.

They’ve acted on it, once, long before Scarif, but neither have addressed it since. Leia knows on her side it’s not a lack of interest, or even fear, because she does not care for what the galaxy thinks of the most recognized member of the Rebellion.

What holds Cassian back is a mystery she’s trying to unravel _. Fear for her? For himself? For his loyalty to the cause?_

She’s just not sure where to begin, and it infuriates her.

Romance is not one of those things where she can simply ask for help. She knows the holo-novelas aren’t the best source of inspiration, and neither are the guffaws of war-weary soldiers tipsy on Corellian whisky.

She settles on solving this like every other problem she’d been dealt with. Her own way.

She treads carefully, terrified of ruining the fragile friendship forged in the most unlikely of places. If it came down to verbalizing her emotions and keeping Cassian in her life, it would be a simple choice. She can count on one hand the number of people who knows what she means when she refers to the birds perched on her balcony on Aldera, and Cassian is the only one living.

He tethers her to the Rebellion, a splash of vibrant colour in the crisp black and white world of the Empire. He feeds her information that she turns into actions, and she sends him on missions to fill in the empty spaces.

It’s more than what she could ever ask for, but it is not enough for her greedy spirit.

She just wants him with her, always.

* * *

Cassian’s assigned to Leia’s ‘security detail’ on an excursion to a wealthy planet whose monarchy are neither friends nor foes of both the Empire and the Rebellion, their pockets full enough to keep them afloat. The name of the planet’s ruling family escapes him as he stands in Leia’s doorway. The door is slightly ajar and the sight that greets him scrambles his thoughts.

He’d gently rapped at her door in their one-two-one pattern, the details for the next phase of their mission loaded onto his datapad, and the door had hissed open.

“Come in,” her voice calls.

He finds Leia standing at a mirror, hands tugging at strands of her elaborate hairstyle. Her hair had been teased into something other than her practical braids and buns - the typical sort of extravagance expected for delegations like these.

“Can you help me with this?”

He balks at her.

“Surely you-”

Cassian falters, words failing.

She’s making a show of studying her reflection, but Cassian can tell she’s looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Something else rankles under her flippant demeanor, something other than sparkles dust her cheeks.

He wets his lips and lets the door fall behind him.

“Okay.”

Cassian sets the datapad on her bed, then turns to stand behind her. His fingers are deft and move with purpose, pulling out the pins as if unwiring – or wiring – a detonator, slowly unleashing Leia’s dark tresses upon her shoulder. Streams of deep brown fall against the white of her dress but he keeps his gaze fixed on the task at hand, careful not to accidentally graze her.

Cassian is methodical, and precise, and his hand never slips to brush anywhere else.

Leia ducks her head when he’s done and wordlessly gathers up all the pins he’s neatly arranged on her dresser then shoves them into a drawer.

Then she turns and looks at him, arms crossed while leaning against the dresser.

“What is it, Princesa?”

She stares at him.

“Think, nerfherder.”

His eyes widen a little at the insult, unfamiliar not in use but in direction.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Have you seen anyone other than myself, Mama, or Papa touch my hair?”

She fights down the memory of her mother carefully braiding her hair, seeing a younger version of herself gazing wistfully into the mirror, wondering if she’d ever be that artful.

The same little girl teases her father as he fumbles to pull out the braids. He’s clumsy but is careful not to yank her hair back, and every one of his blunders is painless.

Leia remembers beaming at him the first time Bail manages to put together a simple braid she throws over her shoulder before hugging him tightly, and later, addressing the Senate.

Cassian’s voice breaks her train of thought.

“In all honesty I’ve never seen you with your hair down,” he says, pointedly looking at his feet.

Leia throws her hands up in the air.

“What?” Cassian repeats, stressing the vowel.

“The point! You missed it!”

He averts his eyes, suddenly more interested in the detailing on her door panel than her face. Leia realizes he hadn’t missed her meaning at all.

He’s purposely avoiding it.

“Cass-" she protests.

“Please.”

“Do you not _want_ this?”

“I don’t want to _start_ this. It’ll get in the way-"

“Am I an obstacle, then? A _distraction_?”

“No – no. You’re just, I’m-”

Leia continues to stare at him and he squirms, not physically, but she can feel the tension radiating off him and almost smirks but anger keeps her expression in check.

 “Fine. Leave the datapad here – _please._ I’ll take a look and be ready in the morning.”

Cassian’s lips part in an attempt to soothe her, but he’s learned over time that anecdotes only anger her further.

He nods, bowing his head, then heads out the door.

She groans and sinks onto the bed.

(She wishes he’d stayed.)

* * *

Hoth is home for now. The rebels have only been on the ice planet for a few days, but already Leia and most of her counterparts have taken to complaining about the weather at any given opportunity. She squints at a report, detailing the sections of the base still uninhabitable for most species.

“This entire _base_ feels uninhabitable,” Leia scoffs an imitation of the official briefing that had materialized in her inbox.

Cassian’s lips press into his familiar sardonic smirk. “It’s going to be like this for a while. You better learn to dress warmly.”

It’s then that Leia remembers he’d been part of the early scout groups sent to make a home out of the previously-inhospitable-and-still-awful planet. He’d joked with her, saying that he’d finally come full circle, having spent his formative years on Fest taking down buildings, not putting them up.

She’d wondered why he’d been picked for the job, then realized Cassian had a way of making people get things done in a careful yet timely manner. He may not realize it, Leia thinks, leaning against the corridor's walls of ice, but Cassian has pull.

Perhaps the charismatic Intelligence agent is just another front.

She can’t tell if her strength is a lie, either.

Cassian’s studying her curiously. Running into each other for the first time on the new base, Leia is dismayed to learn that Cassian is departing for a long term mission. He would be deep in his cover for the next few months.

It wasn’t necessarily dangerous, but long projects such as these had a penchant for turning sour. Even if all went well, she wouldn’t be seeing him for a long time.

Leia’s a little upset about it and isn’t sure where to direct it. She’d had an argument with Solo about ten minutes prior, shouting at him for Force knows what reason, and it was with the aftermath of that confrontation simmering in her blood that she had bumped into Cassian.

“I should go, my ship’s ready.”

Leia sighs. “I’m not looking forward to seeing you go.”

“Neither am I,” he replies, the corners of his mouth quirking into a frown. “I used to shift from cover to cover without expectation, but now-“

“Now?” she presses, leaning forward expectantly.

Cassian shoves his hands into the pockets of his parka.

Ducking his head, he mumbles: “I have something to look forward to when I get back.”

Leia looks both ways, knowing this corridor was seldom used, then steps forward to meet his toes with hers.

“I’m happy for you, then.”

Cassian lifts his head just enough to meet her eyes.

“I should be thanking you.”

She smiles, then lifts herself onto her toes.

He meets her halfway, like last time. That’s the only similarity. Hoth is cold and when their lips meet the chill is the first thing that registers in her mind. She leads the way but he presses back, gentle, but with a thrum of urgency held in check, leaving room for more.

She chases the feeling then stops, her focus shifting away from the physical and to the feelings buffeting her all at once.

Sadness, an unidentifiable _want_ lingering just beyond her grasp. She pulls him tighter, looking for the source, but is only faced with the brunt of his emotions. Throes of despair so thick Leia swears if she presses further she won’t be able to recover and suddenly, she’s worried by the sheer depth of his pain. It burns, tangible, real, rolling off him in waves. She can taste it.

Under it all, the anger and loneliness and hurt, she finds what she’d been seeking. A bright flare of hope burning in the darkness, the beginnings of something she’d once seen long ago –

They pull away before she can understand, his name wrangled from her lips.

“I have to go,” Cassian says, breath curling into puffs of air.

“May the Force be with you,” she replies. This time she swears to the universe that she will see him again.

* * *

Leia spends most of the flight wishing it’d been Cassian flying the ship. As fate would have it, she’s stuck with two droids and a Wookie on a rusting tin can piloted by a maniac.

It could be worse.

* * *

Her voice is hoarse by the time they land on Bespin from all the arguing, but when she sees the way Calrissian looks at Han, she begins to understand the source of his frustration.

* * *

When he disappears into the carbonite chamber, she tells him:

“He still loves you.”

“I know,” is his reply. She makes sure Lando hears it.

* * *

Time changes all things.

Cassian’s different. She’d been busy with Luke, still recovering from his confrontation with Vader, and had only just glimpsed the man for the first time in what feels like years.

She realizes it’s been long enough. Enough, in general.

She spends the solitary walk to his quarters wondering what he’d think of her abruptness. He should be used to it by now but this topic is a contentious one between them. Not that the feelings weren’t mutual, but the majority of their time together had been spent fighting a bigger battle.

 _Enough,_ she thinks, as she knocks at his door.

(One-two-one.)

_Let us fight for ourselves._

When the door clicks open, Leia isn’t met by surprise.

“I guess it’s time,” he remarks sheepishly, stepping aside to let her in.

“It is.”

* * *

He traces paths over the fabric, drawing smaller and smaller concentric circles, calling back to the night on the ship leaving Yavin IV. He feels her tense then relax against his touch.

Leia had begun to wonder if his meandering pace was slowed down for her sake, as if she was a fragile flower he was afraid of crushing. She’d been scared he didn’t want her or any of this, that she was forcing him into something. She told him as much, but he’d gently shushed her and sealed a promise with his lips.

Then she understood his reverent approach was for himself.

 _This is real_ , Cassian thinks, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb. _She’s real. She’s here._

Princess Leia Organa is the safest of them all. The lifeblood of the Rebellion, not only it’s face and voice but its very soul, many would die to keep her alive. She’s given life to those same fears, whispered them into the crook of his neck.

“They treat me like my life is worth more than theirs. Like I’m-I’m bigger than reality.”

“You’re an emblem,” he whispers back, afraid speaking too loudly.

“Of what?”

His hand stops in its tracks, circles forgotten in favour of soothing her doubts.

Who is Leia, to him, to the rebels, to the galaxy?

“Hope,” he answers, finally.

She stiffens in his grasp.

“Just remember that she’s a version of you, much like _this_ one.” He nudges her gently but Leia doesn’t smile.

“But which one’s real? You-you have aliases. How do you know who _Cassian_ is?”

She feels his grip tighten around her.

“I don’t. But that’s okay. You don’t have to have everything all figured out. Just-just be sure of what you want.”

“Like you,” she grins, and he chuckles.

She closes her eyes and tilts her head back to rest it on his chest, feeling his laughter reverberate. She hums an old Alderaani tune, something the local fishers would sing as the brought in their haul, their voices carried on the breeze. Her hand is on Cassian’s knee as he resumes his work of disentangling all the high-strung nerves of her body, leaving calm aches in his wake.

She doesn’t know how much time passes, but the song’s faltered on her lips and picked up on his. It’s unfamiliar and recognizable all at once, likely a tune from his native planet, soft as the hands lightly skimming over the sleeves of her dress. They hike up the fabric this time, experimentally fluttering across her skin. She shivers as he does, partly from the sudden exposure to the cold. Then he grips her forearm.

She opens her eyes, worried that her reaction had scared him.  

The expression on his face is unreadable, and that itself is a giveaway. The lines of his mouth are drawn tight. His eyes aren’t narrowed but simmer darkly, and the steely quality of his gaze could send a troop of stormtroopers running in the opposite direction.

She follows his eyes, then sighs. Faint scars, rendered so by hastily applied bacta, but obvious to anyone who knows to look.

“Oh. Those. Don’t you know?”

He sighs and she leans against him, arm still clutched in his hands.

“I _knew_ , I wanted to ask you but – but I thought you needed the time.”

She smiles against him. “I’m grateful for that.”

“Will you tell me now?”

She shuts her eyes and focuses on Cassian’s breathing. It’s natural and slightly ragged, warm against her cheek. Not measured, not mechanized, not laboured.

There is no interrogator droid hovering above their bed. It doesn’t hold a syringe, ready to prick her arm, ready to leave the scars that Cassian’s staring at right now.

When she opens her eyes again, his gaze is tender and fixed on her face.

“I don’t think I can. Talking about it… it’ll just make it seem real. There’s nothing I can tell you – the Rebellion – that will help Intelligence in the future. Nothing we can learn, I mean. I-I’ve read the reports. Their stories are like mine.”

 _Except they broke, and I didn’t_ , is the unspoken thought between them.

Cassian doesn’t press further, only prompts:

“If talking won’t help _you_ , then I won’t bother you about it, okay?” He reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair that’s fallen out of her braid. “But if that changes, I’m still here. Let me know if you need anything, alright?”

She nods.

“How are you feeling?”

 _Fine,_ is the familiar response that rises to the tip of her tongue.

Cassian’s never been caught – it’s why he’d been valued even before Scarif.

 _Fine,_ is the response that litters forms filled out by an endless line of medics. Former prisoners, worried superiors, people almost too willing to talk and people only asking for appearance’s sake, and Leia’s told them, proven to them all the same thing.

She’s fine.

 _Really,_ she is.

Her shoulders sag nonetheless, and Cassian hand releases her sleeve to pull her closer.

“He needs to die,” she croaks.

She balls up a fistful of fabric – the bedsheets or the baggy parts of Cassian’s clothing, she doesn’t notice. “And I will be even happier if I’m the one to kill him.”

Cassian doesn’t reply. He only hugs her tighter.

(Somehow, that’s enough.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day! Please let me know what you thought, this ship hardly has any followers so every comment counts! :) And big shoutout to everyone who put up with me rambling about this, I hardly even reached the part everyone wanted to see but I hope this is still fulfilling!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right where we left off! Shoutout to the anon who requested a proposal scene and for Mercy for reinvigorating my interest in these two :)

He's burning.

Pure light bites at his skin, ripping away the layers. Grime, sand, muscle, bone. Every sin, every splatter of blood, every scar. Every mask burns away, every language ashes in his mouth, every skill rendered meaningless.

The emptiness is all that remains.

All that remains, is him.

Who is Cassian, without the Rebellion? With nobody to weep for him, no one to bring light to his memory?

They're all dead. He should be dead, too.

The Force had different priorities. Tearing him away from his destination, keeping him from mingling in the winds soaring through Fest, finding home once again. It deposits him at the Rebellion's feet.

He burns, bright green. Set aflame he takes Jedha, Scarif, Alderaan with him. He is: time, light, death, the end of all things. Swallows planets and people whole, draining their life force to server the greater good.

Spat out at Leia's feet.

Leia, his beloved, who burns, burns on the Death Star, with him none the wiser. He loses her then, loses her when Yavin shatters, loses her in a thousand different ways he never considered until now. He'd always been haunted by the past. His choices, his realities, his ghosts.

Never _what if._   Not until Scarif, the greatest what if. _What if_ Jyn? What if Bodhi?

What if, instead of them, him? Waves carrying away his ashes, and he'd finally, finally, go home.

Instead, Leia shows him the way, fitting his footsteps in hers. Her shadow. Following, if not for his own sake, but to put her own mind at ease. Now, now he knows the truth: her sorrow is forever intertwined with his. A chain starting in Galen Erso's mind, winding around Luke's targeting computer - the chain binds them together. Forever.

He burns with her.

* * *

His breath runs out.

Cassian startles with the sudden jerk of a fall ending. But it's a bed under his back, not a durasteel beam.

An unfamiliar weight's settled on his chest, pressing against his heartbeat. Pleasant - not grief, anxiety, fury. Bleary-eyed, he reaches for it and finds warmth. Silken hair snags around his fingers, and the sensation surprises him.

First by its presence. Then, by the delay in comprehending it.

Her.

Leia.

Cassian closes his hand into a fist, suddenly afraid of touching her. She'd slept through his nightmare, but with his heart still pounding under her ear, she'll wake soon enough. He eases into his breathing exercises, the ones he uses to steady his aim (and his heart). 

Leia shifts with his breathing, lolling to the side. Instinctively, he cups the back of her head to keep it from rolling off his chest. 

A few breaths later, Leia still hasn't woken. Cassian can't recall the last time he woke to warmth instead of emptiness, and idly wonders when Leia had the same. (He can't remember if he ever has, not in this lifetime, not after Fest.) 

The only fragment of his conscience that's survived endless beatings recoils from sharing a bed as anyone other than Cassian. Not with his recruits, either. One thing they all had in common were broken hearts. Shattered by lost loved ones, for sure, but also shattered by the hand of the galaxy. Cassian didn't want to add any more to that burden. 

With Leia slowly stirring, he hesitates to think of the two who'd been with him before. Short and sweet, in the gasps between missions, impersonal enough for an agent to allow in. Most avoided spooks -  if they even noticed him. Only the heat of victories celebrated across base ever reached his bed. Back when they were rebels without an Alliance. A mutual understanding with another agent, a pilot, both too broken to hold in any warmth but seeking physical companionship nonetheless.

Now the Rebellion's figurehead dozes on his chest, having exchanged nothing with him save a few words and a few hours of rest (and a few kisses). 

His exhales ruffle the loose strands splayed around her in a halo. Far more aware of his proximity to her, the urge to press his lips to her parting of hair sparks within him. Stunned by his capacity to fathom such an affectionate, domestic, feat, he's also amazed by the very concept.

Too soon, he thinks.

Perhaps... later.

Someday. 

He's surprised by the boldness with which _someday_ enters his mind. As if the Force believed that thought to be just as preposterous as he does, Leia begins to shift, taking the warmth with her.

Cassian shivers. "Lei?"

She stirs only to wraps herself tighter around his torso.

"Lei... "

Her grumble resonates against his abdomen. "Leia, it's late." Her response is a comically undignified grunt. Cassian's used to her more unorthodox behaviours - at least, for Core royalty - yet the rough sound elicits a soft smile. It broadens when she replies:

"Time doesn't exist in hyperspace."

They're still a couple hours from Zastiga's surface, where the rest of Alliance leadership awaits them. With what, Leia isn't sure, but with Cassian toying with her hair, with her heart lying over his, she frankly doesn't care.

"Not an excuse."

She rises just enough to glare at the chrono. It blinks an obscenely early time at her. "How is this karking hour _late_ to you?" 

Falling back, she nuzzles against Cassian's side. Pulling the blankets with her, she leaves him with only his thin sleep clothes to hold back the dull cold.

But warmth spreads along his ribcage where Leia's hand is splayed around him. "It's late, if you want to be back in your quarters before everyone is awake."

This makes her sit up, one hand still on his chest, the other by his head on the pillow.

"I never hide from anyone. I'm not hiding _us_ from anyone."

Cassian scrubs at his face, shifts to sit up against the wall. When he pulls his hand away, Leia's watching him with an intensity that burns through the haze of sleep. He crinkles his eyes into a reassuring gaze, not a smile, but in this moment the warmth matters more than the expression.

"I appreciate that. I do. I really do." Leia's gaze softens, leaning back towards him. He raises a hand, finding her just as Leia presses her lips to his palm. "I just... we're... we.... it's too early. We don't even know... what we are... and nobody here can keep their mouth shut."

"Maybe I was just hoping to give everyone something to talk about at today's meeting." The smirk Leia gives him physically burns.

"Leia..."

She shakes her head, freed tresses spilling over her shoulders. The sight plunders the air from his lungs. She's beautiful, he thinks, and so, so beyond his reach. His hand drifts beyond his control, sinking his fingers into her hair. 

"Kidding," she relents, adopting a more serious look. Toying with her hair, her gaze flickers away from his face. One of her tics she's never managed to break.

"There's something you want to tell me."

"I..." she starts. "It's..." Her hand makes a fist of the bedsheets, pulling them in and leaving radial folds in her wake. "Luke's..."

"Luke's hand?"

Leia shakes her head.

"Shavit, no, Solo. You want to look for Solo." Cassian sits up, away from the pillow against his back, and covers Leia's hands with his. "I should've realized..."

"I can't ask you to send someone after him. I know you can't spare anyone... I know nobody's worth that risk, but..."

"He helped save you."

Leia snorts, ducking her head. "We'll call it that for his sake. I just don't think it's right to leave him... we don't even know where he is."

Cassian nods, then lifts their joined hands into his lap. " _You_ want to go after him."

"I know, I know, I have to stay here, I'm the figurehead, we can't lose me, because I'm more important than anyone else-"

"You give us hope, Lei."

His voice takes on that low, sincere timbre of his that he seemingly reserves for moments like these. Moments when she wavers - moments when anyone wavers, she thinks, because she cannot lay sole claim to something like this. Like him. For all the things Leia's been given in this galaxy (for all the things that have been taken from her) Cassian lies beyond that realm. He's given everything he has to the betterment of the galaxy, and in return the galaxy has ripped everything from him. Save his life - and what Leia hopes is the chance to give him something better that stolen, secret moments.

She sighs.

Cassian thinks he's said the wrong thing. He tries to make up for it by gently touching her shoulder. She likes physical comfort. It seems to ground her, validate her feelings. But he knows she's too aware of his boundaries to ask. He's built his walls to hide himself from the galaxy (to hide the galaxy from him). Tracing  circles with his thumb, Leia leans against his arm. He might've been affectionate like her, if fate had allowed it. Somewhere in his mind's eye his parents brush shoulders, hold hands, massage feet. He himself is swept into a grand embrace, lifted into the air to cheer among snowflakes, spun around a fire of dizzying gold.

Leia lifts her head, the glint in her eyes bright enough to beckon him forward. He touches his forehead to hers, their breath mixing in the shrinking sliver of air between them.

His lips touch hers first, this time. Soft, a reminder that regardless of who Princess-now-Commander Leia Organa is to the galaxy, to the Rebellion, to Major Andor of Rebel Intelligence, to Aach - to him (to the boy once called only as Cassi) Lei can be whoever she wants to be. He cups her face, moving carefully as to not startle her. Never daring to grip her, he only presses his thumbs against her cheeks.

Leia sidles into his lap, already seeking more. Not with urgency, for once. No desperation, nothing waiting to tear them apart. Slow but needy, an exploration Cassian thought he would never have, especially not with her, not with their duties and their lives on opposite poles. Her steady insistence pulls a quirk of a smile from Cassian, a smile Leia nips away in short bursts of determination.

Cassian feels her tremble, right where she grips his waist, and it's a reminder of their weaknesses, their failings. His.

He can't guarantee her a life free from further hurt, can't guarantee he'll live to see her through it. Despite himself, despite his better sense, he feels her sorrows and burdens mingling with his own. Growing blurred. Indistinguishable like their breathing.

He feels them linger long after they pull apart.

"I'll see you in the meeting."

* * *

Cassian nicks a chair with his calf as he leaves.

He blames the stumble on his stiff back, his never-healed back that'll keep him stuck here on Zastiga and away from his farking rifle. His wondrous, wretched, rifle. For the first time in a long time, long before he'd thought to attempt a beard, Cassian's impassive face crumbles. It shatters from the inside, the breakdown surging in his veins and pulling his resolve into the inferno of his heart. The sickening twist of horror pools in his stomach, the sensation familiar, too familiar, more familiar than the planet he'd once called home.

He manages to push away the tendrils of defeat long enough to survive the debrief - once the formalities are dealt with, Cassian excuses himself to fall apart in peace.

There's no U-Wing to escape to, no secluded cockpit to vomit and cry in waiting for him.

He's got his quarters, but they're too far, too karking far. Nightmares chase at his fumbling heels, a floor plan unraveling in his footsteps. He thanks the farking stars he's been in this long enough to collapse in stoic silence, the beat of his boots louder than the roar of his heart.

But he doesn't know where to go. He doesn't know this base as well as the others, doesn't know where the forgotten storage closets or the shooting range are. All he knows is how to hide and how to run, and that is all he does.

Then,  _shavit._

"Cassian."

The one voice he'd hoped not to hear. (When had the universe paid attention to his hopes?) 

"Cassian, wait." 

He freezes, his feet recognizing overriding authority. 

Leia's palm touches his back, just as she swings into his periphery. Her voice, soft and sweet and hurting, so obviously hurting under the concerned front she's put on for him. He doesn't deserve that sweetness, her kindness. He doesn't need it - he's done this on his own enough times he can do it once more.

Leia, though, lost her planet in the blink of an eye and to this day Cassian knows her unspoken grief haunts her. She sought him out, in the days after Yavin's evacuation, but there was no way his presence could be enough of a balm. He recognizes the look in her eyes as stifled sorrows, not peace. It burns him to see a mirror there, and though he's stopped walking, he can hardly look at her. She deserves better than this. This fight isn't hers, she never chose it.

(She'd remind him that, yes, in fact, she did choose to be here, and this is why Cassian says nothing.) 

"My quarters are closer," is what she tells him.

* * *

Leia's never seen Cassian cry.

Even now, his lip hardly trembles, the only hint as to what he's fighting expressing itself in shallow, shaking breaths, and the tightness of his features. He must process things faster than she does - of course he does - because as she watches him fall apart, she feels nothing.

_We have reports... seeming to confirm... the creation of a new superweapon. Rebel Intelligence has reached out to our network of spies, in hopes they'll be able to recover more details about its location and capabilities._

Closing her eyes, she reaches for Cassian, lacing her fingers through his hair. Finds him, holds him against her, where an old, old, weight sinks back into her stomach.

_They're calling it the Death Star II._

She hadn't been around when the Rebellion first learned of the Death Star, only sent a message by her father mere hours before Scarif's destruction. A mission, a plan that fell apart entirely, the tendrils that did survive partially woven by the man in her arms.

The man that nobody dared to look at when the curtain was pulled back on the second Death Star. Perhaps part of the shock was that Intelligence had gone behind his back for the operation. For a man who lived and breathed Intelligence, who knew every branch and every alias as his own veins and names, the betrayal must weigh as heavy as the news itself. She wonders if, for all the controversy had caused, if General Draven would've made the same decision. 

It's not good, now, to worry about dead possibilities. They have enough ghosts.

"Cass," she murmurs, once she thinks he's ready. Leia ruffles his hair, finding a numb solace in the circular motions of her fingertips. _He's here, she's here with him, and they'll get through this together._  It's more than what they had before. 

"I'm sorry." Cassian tilts his head up. His eyes flutter shut with his chin pressing below her sternum. Her hands slide down behind his neck, slipping into his collar and rub the bumps of his spine. (The only thing keeping him from leaping into the field.) It's enough to get him to look at her again. When she looks down at him, the faint light streaming under the door of her quarters catches in his eyes, glistening as unshed tears.

But already his mask begins to fetter her window into his thoughts. She's losing him - the man she's managed to uncover in these few weeks after Hoth, the man she might one day think of as hers - to the stoic spy she'd grown up watching. "I must've scared you," he adds harshly, "I shouldn't have let myself slip."

"Cassian," she repeats, just skimming into a growl, calling on the tone she reserves for those who underestimate her.

Two can play at this game of identities. She has just as many titles. Daughter to dead parents, twice over. Senator and Princess of a destroyed planet. Figurehead of a Rebellion that wanted to keep her dresses pristine instead of use her capabilities. "Don't."

"I should be better than this," is his response. "I have no excuse. We all..." 

"-have feelings, Cassian. You have feelings. Honour them." Leia's reminded of an argument from what feels like eons ago. On her ship, back when she was just a girl, even though she'd insisted otherwise. Just like this - the two of them, alone, about to part ways. Cassian, clean shaven, dressed Imperial grey-green. Cassian, admitting the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders was sometimes too much to bear.  _It's normal,_ he'd said, before she kissed him. Before he kissed her. Bright and solemn and aching and broken.

Then he'd left. Then, he almost died. 

She can't do that again. Not like this.

"You're no good to the Rebellion like this," is what slips out next, her grip tight on his shoulders now. She hates herself for saying it. As if all he's merely another asset to the Rebellion. As if his worth is measured in the kills listed on the file so secret she's never seen it, doubts it even exists. She can't force the words out, her own feelings tangled and knotting her tongue. _You matter,_ she wants to say, _I need you, the Rebellion needs you, but most importantly, you need to live to see a free galaxy._

"I know, which is why-"

"You should deal with it instead of bottling up. Cassian, I've shared a bed with you once and already know you've been having nightmares."

Cassian sits up straight, pushing into the edge of her bed. She lets him go, moving to sit down beside him. Her mattress creaks under their combined weight as she leans on his shoulder.

"You knew?"

Leia sighs. "Not then. Not when I woke up. I was too... fluttery, I guess..."  It's something she should say in the tone of the besotted young woman she is, should be, but instead she's laden with an ancient sadness. Pressure building under her eyelids, instead of a shy smile. "Then I was worried about Han..." She turns her face into his neck, breathing evenly against his pulse, wishing desperately she could take all of Cassian's burdens away. "I didn't realize it until after the meeting." Her hands find his, in an echo of a habit she's yet to form.

What she doesn't tell him is that he'd gasped her name long before waking. Leia rolled over to hold him tight until he sunk back into slumber, then followed in his wake. What she hadn't known, was that while she slept, he'd fallen right back into his nightmare.

What she doesn't tell him is that she's been having nightmares too. 

She doesn't realize how tightly she's gripping him until he runs his thumb over her knuckles. _Shavit,_ isn't she supposed to be consoling him?

"I'm scared," Cassian admits to the darkness, with his voice so close to breaking Leia feels claws in her heart. "I'm scared it was all for nothing."

She squeezes his hand even tighter. "I know. I am, too. But we won't let that happen, Cassian."

"I can't do anything." His voice is raw in a way she's never heard before. Not even after Scarif, where she'd kept watch by his cot and listened to him grieve for names he never realized were crossing his lips. Only for her to hear.

She suspects some hailed from a beautiful past, names only his rattled, bacta-soaked mind could remember. She's never asked, doesn't have the courage to break him along healed faults.

Leia mourns them for him, regardless, knows Cassian can't afford the luxury of remembrance. A few more names tacked on to her daily prayers, prayers she feels are now futile under the Death Star's shadow. Prayers she continues with only for her mother's belief in them. Breha scaled a mountain with their power, fallen with those words in her mouth. 

Felled by the Death Star. The brutal thought cycle forces her into a familiar, vicious train of thought.

She holds Cassian all the more tightly. "You can. You're the best spy, the best recruiter, the galaxy's ever known."

Cassian shifts, and Leia's tempted to ask him to lie down. Lie down, rest his weary head on her lap, find some comfort in her embrace.

"They're sending me away, once... it's confirmed. They don't want all of us on Sullust, gathering in one place, just in case..."

 _Ah._ Leia's not sure what she can offer, her own heart still reeling. She's only ever given him missions and a hand to hold, but Leia is determined to give him everything she has.

He'd do more for her.

"They trust you enough to start over."

"They trust my network." He tilts his head. "Have they not told you to stay back?"

Leia's washed with a wave of exhaustion, too tired to do anything but nod, dragging the cloth of his shirt. The one time, the one time the Rebellion doesn't value her status as figurehead over Cassian's life - and others like him - they'll still be torn apart.

"Stay. Here, with me, tonight, every minute we have before..." she swallows. "I'm headed to Basteel. I offered to set up a distraction, lure the Empire there before rejoining everyone over Sullust."

There. A confession in exchange for his. Or, perhaps, she follows his lead. Away from old, unhealed wounds, towards things they can easily solve. Missions and separation.

"This was your idea?" He has all the right dig into her with his words, but his voice remains light. _So undeservedly gentle._

"It was, I..."

"You're hoping to find a clue about Solo while you're there."

Leia closes her eyes, then nods. "Luke's looking too. And Lando, I just feel so helpless... Cassian, stay. I don't care if we're all that everyone gossips about for the next decade."

"You sure about that?"

Opening her eyes at the sound of his lightened tone, Leia feels the tightness in her chest loosen at the mirth in his gaze.

"I'm sure," she echoes softly. "Stay."

There's a part of Cassian that's tempted to flee. Rise, mumble an apology, an excuse, something befitting their places in the Rebellion. In the galaxy. Write off last night as a temptation and nothing more, because indulging further, indulging in this... this will becomes something he can't neatly tuck away when the situation calls for it. Not like his ghosts. 

Leia would make a terrifying ghost. 

 _Cut the tie now,_ he thinks, _save her from all the hurt._ But they're wound together, by fate's unbreakable chain, and Cassian just follows its pull, sinking into the mattress, into her arms. He's faced with the want in her eyes, recognizes the distant stare layered underneath. He's been seeing ghosts all day - every day, but more today - and now he's faced with the truth: she's being haunted as well.

Jyn, Bodhi. Tivik, Melshi. 

Bail, Breha. Her people's ways of life. 

Cassian will only hurt her more by running. He'll become one of her ghosts - and he knows far too well how much those almosts hurt. 

"I will. I'll stay, Leia."

Cassian drifts to sleep, not with thoughts of war and bright green flames, but with the scent of Leia's hair.

* * *

Leia comms him from Kaisa's orbit.

He would've expected it, had he given himself more importance in Leia's eyes. But he hadn't, and certainly not allocated himself the same value as her father. The only person Leia commed on secure channels to discuss unofficial business. 

He'd attributed it to the impulse of a child. A weakness, yes, but one he could understand. There are old memories, he knows, of a young boy waiting for his father to come home, who clung on to his every word that escaped through a faulty connection. But those memories belonged to someone else, someone who could afford to replay them, someone who didn't have to worry about every weakness being turned into a blade against their own throat.

He goes over safer memories instead, those of the young Princess he'd studied while serving at Bail Organa's side. Part of that mission was Bail's own insistence, but part of it was Cracken's curiosity as to whether the girl would ever amount to anything.

Weaknesses aside, she clearly has.

Or it is, perhaps, because of them. Because while attachments are a weakness, so too is the neglect of their power. He's seen what people have done for those they love. And some days, he wonders if the Empire too was birthed by such action. He doubts it, really, because to think entire planets and star systems were destroyed in someone's name is beyond him. The Emperor doesn't seem to be capable of love - Intelligence had spent years looking for a potential fault line, and the man had none. 

But a man like that must also underestimate it, and thus, Cassian knows where the Emperor will fail, one day. Fear is a powerful tool, but hope even more so. (And rebellions...) 

He sighs, and answers her comm. 

"He's on Tatooine."

So the bounty hunter had delivered Solo to his keeper. A shame - it would've been easier to stage a rescue while he'd been in transport. Breaking into a fortress was already difficult, and if he remembers correctly, the smuggler was in debt to a particularly vile breed of Hutt.

"You want to go," he says. She doesn't respond with an affirmative, but if he could see her, he knows she'd nod. "I don't have the authority to tell you otherwise."

"I don't think I outrank you." She ends with a halt, as if she'd been close to saying his rank but decided otherwise. (This deep in Imperial space, Leia shouldn't be comming him. And yet...) 

Cassian starts, the words Princess and Commander already on his tongue.

Leia insists she's hardly a princess, with only far-flung citizens and bits of dust to call her such; and even less of a commander. He has his reservations, but no argument strong enough to shake her self doubt. Some part of him, a dark, ugly, part of him, the part that says he isn't fit to share anything with her, that she'll never truly understand him, still recoils at her pristine white robes and life of comfort. It wonders how a Core world Princess could ever command a milita. 

He pushes away the darkness, reminding it that's far from the case. She's proven herself a thousand times over, as great a shot as half the Rebellion - and most notably, the only person who didn't crack under Vader's interrogation.

Besides, if anyone deserves some sense of peace, its Leia, a source of hope for an entire galaxy. A princess by birth, yes, but a solider by choice.

And he'll do his kriffing best to make sure she keeps it.

"This isn't an order. I can't tell you what not to do. I can tell you what I know. If that Hutt learns you're there... no matter how many plans you have, if he finds out..." He can't say her name, but the edge appears in his voice nonetheless. Where was his control? "Every Human, Humanoid, Twi'lek... every young woman that's entered his den... he took as a slave. Every single one."

Leia presses her lips together.

"I've seen you court Imperials. I've watched you steal classified documents. I know..." he hesitates, "I know you faced... interrogation all on your own. But... I can't, I can't bear to watch you go there... We can't risk it. The Empire didn't break you, Lei, but a Hutt like him has nothing to hide. He won't torture you. You will be his prize." As he gathers his strength, the only sound is their breathing mixing in the silver of air above his comm."I know you're more than capable, almost too much. But... your friends are, too. You'll be an asset, but not one they need to risk losing just to have with them. You're needed elsewhere."

He lets out a shaky breath.

"Come back."

Leia opens her mouth, a rebuttal forming, then closes it.  "Fine. I'll come..." she swallows the word Sullust, knowing even the most secure channel could crack, "Not for them. For you."

"You don't have to. Not for me."

"I want to."

* * *

Droids in tow, it's Skywalker, Calrissian, and Chewbacca who head to the Hutt's palace. Cassian promises Leia he'll watch over them, promises he'll head out at the first sign of trouble. With her.

Their help isn't required - it's Luke who thaws Solo out, Luke who gets tossed to the rancor. Luke who saves them.

"You might've been right," Leia tells Cassian, when they're alone in the command room, with only cooled mugs of caf and dimmed lights for company. The Death Star II's schematics float somewhere in the background, waiting to be revealed to the entire fleet after Cassian leaves.

"I hope not. I think you would've proven me wrong."

"You would've been a nervous wreck while I was gone." She grins, but the smile quavers and doesn't reach her eyes. "Luke saw. Like you said, a... Twi'lek. Just a girl. She'd... I don't know what she'd done. Failed to pay him back, maybe. Just a girl... I knew, I knew before you told me, I had an idea, but... Luke saw." Cassian's gaze drifts to her hands, where they grasp her mug with a white knuckled grip. Hoarsely, she adds: "They didn't even put cuffs on me, on the Death Star."

If he were someone else, he might think he knew how to console her. But he'd seen far too many terrors, knows her too well, to even believe a simple hug would shake away her dark thoughts. He steps towards her anyways, lets her rest her cheek against his chest.

"I'm glad you didn't go." He's also glad he'd managed to wrangle a few hours above Sullust, even if it's just to see Leia one more time. Not the last, he hopes fiercely. Even so, he's too aware of the pain from unresolved endings. 

She inhales deeply, hand forming a fist over his heart. "We should, when we can. Free them all. Tatooine, Kashyykk. The entire karking galaxy. Make them pay. That Hutt, that karking excuse of a Sith Lord, all of them. Every single one."

Cassian's gaze flickers around the room, locks and cams and deactivated screens, before he tucks his face into her shoulder. Whispers a promise he desperately hopes won't end up as another soothing lie. "We will."

Leia smiles brightly, grin digging into the front of his shirt. He wishes in another lifetime he'll be able to bring her joy from something trivial, something other than the promise of hunting down a slaver.

He doesn't have the courage to wish for it in this lifetime.

* * *

For all of Cassian's actions, most of his life has been waiting. Lying in wait on a rooftop, fingers growing numb around his rifle's trigger. Waiting for the shelling to stop, waiting for the light to claim him.

Frankly, this is one of the worst waits of his life. He's busy, saving information and setting up contacts, safehouses, secret channels _just in case._ When news of the Death Star II's destruction - and the Emperor - finally reaches him, he almost collapses with relief. Spared the chaos on Yavin IV by virtue of bacta immersion, he lets himself drown, just for a moment, in all the emotions whirling around him.

 _The Emperor is dead. Vader is dead._ The Empire lives on, but without its head nor arms.

Cassian's heart aches at all the work lying ahead, surely made all the more difficult by those who believe the work is over. But, he knows that the next steps have already been taken, with rebel groups across the galaxy rising up with the news.

He can rest, tonight. A whole new galaxy awaits them tomorrow.

Cassian changes course to Endor. To Leia, and, hopefully, home.

* * *

When he reaches the surface, the revelry's already begun. Endor is one moon he's never visited, and it's the first he's allowed to see without a mission forming his scope. Lush greenery, trees swaying in the nighttime wind, a canopy framing the constellations he knows by heart. The entire scene that unravels before him is unbelievable.

And then there's Leia.

Leia, unlike anything he's ever seen before. Only a short braid crowning her head, the rest falling past her waist in smooth, brushed out lengths. A dress of green seemingly woven from Endor's surface. He can't be sure until he sees the planet in daylight.

Now his only guide is the fire burning bright, painting lines of shadows and gold on Leia's features. He's grateful he has a moment to collect himself before he catches her eye - he's glad his heart has a chance to rest before witnessing the brilliant smile splitting her face when she sees him.

"Cassian!"

Her face is flush, just tipsy enough to rid her of a princess' constraints, but there's no longer anyone here, for now, that can hurt them. Leia tumbles into his arms, locking him in place. "You're here! Finally."

His heart's racing, where Leia's tucked herself under his chin, breath warming the sudden chill of Endor's night. She's swaying, gently, to the Ewok music carried by the wind. Cassian uses the movement to pull her into the forest's shadows, where they'll be safe from onlookers - and any rogue troopers looking to avenge their fallen.

"It's gone," she murmurs. "They're gone."

"I know," he whispers, and it still doesn't feel real, even after all the pilot chatter and HoloNet reports he'd filtered through.

"We're free."

He bites back the words, _not yet._ Let them celebrate as long as they can, before the remnants of the Empire demand repayment in blood. Cassian's tired, so tired, of this fight, but now even the darkest of his thoughts give way to Endor's light. Part of him knows there will be no end. Once the Empire is beaten into submission there will be the long work of constructing a fair society. But even that future is far enough for Cassian to shove it aside, just for tonight, and focus on Leia in his arms.

"You're thinking too hard, Andor." Even muffled by his chest, Cassian can hear her voice is free from the burdens she's carried all these years. There's still something else, though, something he can't name. Something he needs to investigate.

Leia's moved on without him, though, and juts her head up with starry eyes. "It's a good time to get married, Cassian."

He honest-to-Force splutters. Of all the ways he'd expected tonight to pan out, of all the turns Cassian thought this conversation would take, none of them led here. Separation, a single night, regret, indifference, but an impromptu wedding? Leave it to Leia to think of the unexpected.

She's watching him expectantly.

"Me? Or you?"

"Us, nerfherder. Who else? Han and Lando? They already have - twice!" She laughs, leaving Cassian puzzled.

"Us, now?"

"Yes, now!"

He hates this. Being the pragmatic one in every situation, but it's what he needs to be. Leia, for all her whip-smart intensity, her courage and her kindness, sometimes slips into impulsive behaviour. Most times it works in her favour, helps her build empathy across the galaxy and find the Rebellion new friends. He hasn't resolved the mystery of the Ewoks' participation, but it wouldn't be beyond him to believe Leia put that in motion. Still, for all her years in the Rebellion, shifting between bases and planets, she was still raised a Core World Princess. The Organas did their best, but for appearances' sake they were still raising an Imperial Princess. There were still parts of her, the ones shaped by tutors and riches, that sought things nobody could give. 

Freedom and adventure had been two of those things, and perhaps that was what forged her path to the Rebellion. But, he reminds himself, those two things weren't enough to keep her here. A twinge in his gut whispers a loathsome idea - what if she'd stayed for him? He brushes it aside. She'd lost her family. Half the Alliance was here for vengeance. 

The Alliance offered her the best of their protection, the best of their everything, and took all that and more from him. While Cassian doesn't underestimate the magnitude of her horrors, he knows he'll never be able to accept her love this easily.

They're too new.

They're too different.

He can't. He can't do this, can't do this to her.

Especially in the numbing haze of victory, where every possibility looks bright in the firelight. He's witnessed the consequences of calling the battle too early.

_What if another Emperor rises tomorrow?_

"You've been drinking too much," is his actual response. He keeps his voice light, teasing, even, slips away his reasoning behind a mask. 

"I understand," she says, withdrawing from him. She must see right through him - or, at least, sense his displeasure. Maybe he's trying too hard, his years as an agent failing him when he's acting as himself. How does Cassian look when he's happy? How does he look when he's relaxed? He doesn't know. The smile feels wrong on his face, and he drops it when she pulls away. Already missing her closeness, he's stuck with the repercussions of his actions. (Foolish of him to think this would last.)

"I'm being impulsive. A drunk little princess." With her voice gaining such a sharp edge, Cassian realizes she isn't as buzzed as he thought she was. Perhaps not at all.

She was just happy.

And he'd ruined it for her.

"Leia," he starts, and sighs. "I'm not ready. We're... we don't... it's not over yet."

With a surprising amount of clarity, Leia straightens. A switch, changing her from a young rebel to his commander. "What if it's never over, Cassian? What if we're always chasing after something better? When will you know it's time?" 

Under the brunt of her scrutinizing gaze, Cassian has no way out. "I don't know. I just know this is too early. Lei, we might've known each other for years, but we've never been together longer than a day." He scrubs at his face, trying not to think of the dim light of an elevator, the feeling of sand in his mouth. "I just don't know..." _if we're right for each other,_ "how... where to start."

"We already have, Cassian. Right here."

Perhaps she's right.

"Didn't people have families during the Clone Wars? Even on the poorest of planets, aren't people happy with their spouses? I... We don't have to do this today, but don't deny yourself the possibility," Leia continues quietly. "Please." She takes in a breath, and continues: "didn't our parents make the best of it?" 

He doesn't know if she's asking out of her own need, or if she's asking on his behalf. He can't tell the difference between the two, anyways, their fates so closely intertwined. Closing his eyes, he inhales, the scent of burning firewood and damp soil a pleasant change from tinned air and burning ozone. He reaches out a hand to Leia, who steps forward to take it.

"Lei," he says, opening his eyes. "If there's anyone I'd do this with, it's you."

"Then come with me, Cassian."

He follows her. 

* * *

They wake to the chirping of birds outside the hut. Cassian isn't sure the others have begun to search for Leia, who's currently sprawled out under one of the Ewok's hand-sewn blankets. News will travel quickly, but Cassian doubts they're they only couple to have disappeared early from the revelry. He allows himself the luxury of keeping his eyes closed longer than he needs to, and quiets his mind to the sense of hearing alone. The scurrying of Ewoks in the trees, the dull thuds and shouts of cleanup. Leia's breathing, light and even.

She's awake. 

"You're up early," Cassian remarks. "That's new."

She's studying him with gold in her brown eyes, squinting at the light passing through his silhouette. "It's a new galaxy." Leia stretches, shifting out from under the blankets, his new view reminding him of the paths he'd taken last night. The trail ends in the growing blush of his features. A sweet memory, for once.

"We're all new people," she adds. Normally she'd smile after such a statement, but instead, there's muted sadness. Regret, maybe, for acting impulsively the night before. His gaze finds her gear lying in disarray at the foot of their sleeping mat, tangled with his.

"I understand," he says, sitting up. "It's okay."

Leia's eyebrows pinch together, and she props herself up on an elbow. "What?"

"If you don't... want this, I understand. We can, what happened between us, I can just-" _So much for a sweet memory,_ he thinks. Another spark lit by victory, short lived heat snuffed out once the night was over. (It was foolish of him to expect anything more.) 

"No, no," Leia moves closer and wraps her arms around his shoulders. "No," she sighs, "I think I need you more than ever. But..." she swallows, fingers tightening, "if you don't want anything to do with me after what I'm about to say, that's okay. Just..." she buries her face against his back, takes a long, shuddering breath, "don't tell anyone."

Her distress overwhelms him, so he waits before murmuring, "of course."

"Luke," she starts, "I'm... I'm Luke's twin sister."

Cassian frees his hand from the sheets, clasping it over hers on his shoulder. They look nothing alike, her and Skywalker, but their imprints on the fate of the galaxy feel similar enough. Seeking the source of her distress, he flips through every microexpression, every moment, every file he's ever seen in search for an answer. Skywalker hailed from Tatooine, he remembers, nephew to two free farmers. Strong in the Force. Stronger than most.

Perhaps the same is true for his sister. Leia.

Leia's Force-sensitive.

"I was a Separatist. I know you realize we ridiculed the Jedi, but... things are different, now. We can make them be different." He squeezes her hand. "This doesn't change who you are," he whispers. "You're still you, Leia, Force-user or not."

He offers her the tiniest of smiles, something she can't see from where she's sitting behind him.

"Cassian." This time her voice teeters on the edge of a precipice, hanging above the darkness by only a thread of hope. "Cassian. Luke's father was a Jedi, Ben Kenobi's apprentice. One of the most powerful. But he..." He feels her shift, the pressure of her forehead between his shoulderblades disappearing as she moves away, leaving him in the chill of Endor's early morning air. "Luke's father is Darth Vader."

She doesn't have the strength to tie him to her, doesn't give the vile man the title he's so clearly unworthy of, doesn't give him Bail Organa's place. Doesn't say, _Darth Vader is my father._

But Cassian does not need to hear any more to understand. (The Sith manages to deliver one last, debilitating, blow after his death.) All of his words are ash in his mouth.

His hand releases hers, dropping into his lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Valentine's Day update! There's one chapter left in this saga, in my mind, but I have way, way more projects to attend to so... next year?  
> I still appreciate every comment :)


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